


After the Flood

by dani_the_girl



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-21
Updated: 2008-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-08 14:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dani_the_girl/pseuds/dani_the_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's made it back from the Asgard and Daniel takes him home to recover from the day he's had.  A first time fic and episode tag for The Fifth Race.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Flood

After he gets back the debriefing seems to go on forever. It feels like he's repeated every word of his conversation with the Asgard about five hundred times by the time he's finally cleared to go and he's sure it's partly that they can't quite believe he managed to be that damn diplomatic. He puts it down to post brain-reboot disorientation, himself.

When he makes it out of the conference room, Daniel is leaning against the wall waiting for him. "Hey, Jack," he says. "Want a lift?"

It's on the tip of his tongue to brush it off. Frasier's cleared him to drive, he's free, he's good to go. Master of his own fate again, finally. For the moment. There's something in Daniel's eyes though. A little tightness around the shoulders. Something's definitely bugging him and Jack knows by now that the longer he waits to find out the more what ever it is will have tied Daniel in knots. "Sure. Let's go, Danny boy."

On the drive back to his place, Jack almost convinces himself that he was imagining it. They bicker about what takeout they're going to get, talk smack about the pitchers for the Cubs, all very normal. But sitting down with beers and Lebanese food (gotta let Daniel win sometimes after all) he can see that the tension is still there. Daniel is shooting glances at him rather too often, sitting just that bit more rigid and straight than normal. For the thousandth time, Jack wishes Daniel were easier to read. As missions go, it's all worked out; no deaths, no-one finished up on the critical list, captured or possessed. Potential allies contacted, even. All good things. He absently licks hummus of his fingers, trying to figure it out and is taken by surprise when Daniel stands up in a rush.

"Another beer?" Daniel asks, gesturing at his near empty bottle and stalks towards the kitchen without waiting for an answer. Watching his retreating back, Jack suddenly realises that Daniel is angry. Something or someone has made Daniel mad and he's had a long day and he's really not in the mood to dance around it. He pushes himself up and follows Daniel into the kitchen.

"Daniel, what the hell are you so worked up about?" Oh, yeah, that diplomacy thing definitely short term then.

Daniel spins around in front of the fridge, damn near drops the beers. "What? Nothing!" he snaps.

"C'mon Daniel, you're obviously mad about something. Look, I'm sorry you didn't get to have a shot at the language and all that, it must have been a pain in the ass watching me flail. Next weird thing in the wall we find, you can put your head in."

Daniel's mouth snaps shut and if looks could kill, the glare Jack gets would have him on the floor. If he wasn't mad at Jack before, he sure is now, Jack thinks ruefully. Daniel puts the beers on the counter, two clear precise clicks as they go down, and walks over to stand in front of Jack, give him the full benefit of the Look.

"Okay, Jack," he says. He's not yelling but the force in his voice is like a punch. "I'm not angry at you, but so help me." He pauses, as if looking for the right words, the optimum phrasing. "If you ever put my head in one of those things, I swear I will find a way to come back and kill you." Jack blinks, taken back by how much he seems to actually _mean_ it.

"I _learn_ languages, Jack," Daniel continues softly, each word enunciated precisely, like he wants to be sure there's no way Jack can mishear this. "I learn them and I abstract them and I study them. If I want to translate the writing of the ancients, I will _find a way to do it myself_."

"Clear," Jack replies, just as softly. "So what _were_ you mad about?" Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb after all.

Daniel stares at him for a moment then replies harshly "They just left that thing out there. No safe guards. No, no friendly little message, 'Would you like to erase your brain and replace it with the knowledge of the Ancients, are you sure?'. Nothing. And it damn near killed you. Filled up your language centers, left you with nothing to say. No way to speak to us. No words. They locked you up in your head and threw away the key. Excuse me if I consider that just a little irresponsible." He steps past Jack, back into the living room and flops onto the couch, eyes shut, like either saying it or controlling his tone while he did has exhausted him. "Sorry," he says after a second. "This is the last thing you need tonight. Just give me a minute and I'll leave you to relax."

It seems highly unlikely that if Daniel leaves now either of them will relax. Jack picks up the beers and perches himself on the coffee table opposite Daniel, almost close enough to touch, their knees the regulation few inches apart. He taps Daniel's thigh with one of the beer bottles and when Daniel opens his eyes, pokes it towards him, a peace offering.

"I'm fine, Daniel," he says quietly as Daniel takes the beer from him. "Really."

Daniel takes a long draft from the bottle. "And next time?" he asks.

"And next time too. That's what I keep you smart folks around for; you always figure something out."

Daniel smiles tightly. "We didn't do too well this time. If you hadn't known how to get to the Asgard..." He tails off.

OK, Jack thinks, at least we're back in the lands we know. This is a well worn trail of fucked-up-ness that he knows how to navigate. "Daniel," he says warningly and they've done this so many times now that he doesn't even need to say the rest. For his part in the conversation, Daniel substitutes a shrug and a slightly embarrassed half smile. They're soon going to be able to do this with just eyebrow flicks and significant looks, Jack muses to himself.

He pushes himself upright and turns on the TV. "If we're going to relax, let's do it," he says, passing Daniel the TiVo remote. He'd picked one up as soon as he realised how fucked up the scheduling on this command was really going to be and it didn't take long for the team to come over and start filling up the recording queue. Sam saves mostly old British SF - Dr Who, The Prisoner and the like - and, for some reason, Futurama, which Jack wouldn't have thought would be her thing but they've all become addicted to. Teal'c picks documentaries, although Jack has to operate a strict screening policy as to which ones he's allowed to watch on his own and which require at least one other member of the team providing MST3K style snark to offset the crappy reportage. Daniel's choice _is_ MST3K because heaven forbid he should record something with only a single narrative layer. Between them they manage to fill up all the available space every few weeks and only watch about a fifth of it but at least when they want to kick back there's always something there.

They watch a couple of episodes of Quantum Leap (not relaxing, Carter), drink another couple of beers, switch over to catch up on Futurama for some light relief. When Bender starts going wild on electricity in the second episode they find, Jack shoots Daniel a concerned look but Daniel has dozed off. Well, that counts as relaxed, Jack thinks wryly. Daniel's twisted his head slightly around to pillow against the back of the couch so he is now facing towards Jack, eyes closed, mouth ever so slightly open, worries temporarily retreating from the lines of his frame. On the screen, robot hell is discovered in New Jersey but they're both oblivious to it now. Jack reaches out for the remote control where it's lying between them and switches the thing off.

He thinks for a moment about just slipping Daniel's glasses off and letting him settle here. He looks so peaceful and that doesn't come often enough but he also knows that it won't do Daniel any favours if he leaves him to sleep propped up and fully dressed so he reaches over to gently shake him awake. "C'mon Daniel, bed."

Daniel stirs slowly and blinks up at him. A soft smile spreads across his face, quite unlike any expression Jack has seen there before and before he can decipher what that might mean, Daniel reaches up so his arm is grasping Jack's bicep, grip firm, and starts to pull him closer, off balance. "I thought you'd never ask," he says, no trace of laughter in his voice and before Jack can say anything, protest, pull up, Daniel is kissing him and oh God. He's within an ace of freezing up as this one moment pulls into focus a thousand gestures and signs that he'd glossed over, hundreds of tiny mistranslations. And that goes both ways and he thought after all these years he'd learned how not to let it show, how to keep things unambiguous but apparently not and Daniel's been watching.

And Daniel's watching now. Oh not with his eyes, which are half closed, pupils just visible behind those long lashes, but with his hand sliding up to Jack's shoulder, the insistent pressure of his lips, the focused attention Jack can feel in every line of his body. There are a thousand reasons why this is a crappy idea but none of them are as compelling as the feel of Daniel's lips, the taste of his breath, the beers from this evening overlaying the faint bitterness of the coffee which must be ever present and without consciously choosing it, he's _falling_, leaning in towards the dry warmth that is Daniel.

He feels slightly dizzy when he pulls away, the pressure of so much new knowledge, understanding, recognition filling his mind almost too much. He jerks his head towards the corridor, not quite trusting what he'll say if he opens his mouth but it seems that no matter what language he uses Daniel can follow him and they rise up together, Daniel's hand a warm anchor on his shoulder as he half leads, half is steered towards the bedroom.

It's dim as they sprawl down on the sheets, a few stray lines of light creeping in from the corridor to delineate the shadows and outline their bodies; neither of them reaches out to turn on the lamp. Daniel slides his hands up under Jack's t-shirt, strokes those long fingers gently over the ridges of Jack's ribs and Jack _knows_ that Daniel's felt the hitch in his breathing, the flicker in his stomach muscles because he never thought he would do this tonight and he still knows he _shouldn't_ do this tonight and Daniel is leaning into him, over him and he can feel the unspoken response. If not now then when? They both already know this will never be over.

He lets himself reach out, one hand to Daniel's shoulder, one to his waist and it's a pact, both with Daniel and with himself, a pact and an acknowledgement of all that's been offered and accepted between them. He pulls Daniel closer, impatient to be started now that the decision is made and rolls himself up so that Daniel can pull his shirt up and over his head before he leans down for another kiss.

They unwrap, expose and map each others bodies, storing up sensations and response, cataloguing each other. Jack learns that the soles of Daniel's feet are ticklish but that if you tongue gently at his toes he will suck his stomach in and make a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh at the back of his throat. When Daniel takes two of his fingers inside his mouth, swirling his tongue gently over the whorls and ridges and calluses, he has to remind himself firmly to breathe because the feeling of it, so vivid, almost crowds out everything else.

He sits up for a minute, staring down at Daniel and spares a brief moment of regret that there's no lube in the drawer, that this is so unexpected, because Daniel is lying spread out beneath him, hard and hot, so beautiful, and he wants so much to push inside him and see him come apart. Next time, he thinks. For now, he will have to listen. He ducks his head down, grasping Daniel's hips with firm hands, and swirls his tongue around the head of Daniel's cock before sliding his mouth over and down.

Daniel's breath starts coming in short gasps as Jack works his mouth and tongue gently up and down the shaft of his cock. Daniel tries to buck up into him but he bears him down, weight pressing through his arms onto Daniel's hips, anchoring him and he can feel the moment approaching as clear as if Daniel had shouted out; he presses down and sucks in and lets the taste of Daniel fill his mouth and slide down his throat.

Daniel subsides onto the pillows with a satisfied moan and Jack slides up to stroke a hand into his hair. His cock brushes the length of Daniel's thigh as he moves and catches in the hollow of Daniel's hip, making him moan. He can feel the shift of Daniel's jaw under his hand as he smiles and then Daniel is reaching down between them with those long, clever fingers and wrapping his hand around Jack's cock while his other hand pulls Jack's head close so that he can kiss and taste himself inside Jack's mouth and they're moving together, finding their rhythm, point and counterpoint, until Jack hits the point of no return and he can feel the wet stickiness of his semen pooling between them as he comes, and neither of them have spoken but with every movement, every breath, every pulse he hears himself, _Daniel, Daniel, Daniel_ and Daniel's reciprocation, _Jack, Jack_, certain as sunlight.

For a little while they just rest there, Jack partly propped, partly sprawled over Daniel, head resting in the warm hollow of Daniel's neck. He doesn't want to disengage, to separate his skin from Daniel's, but he can feel himself stiffening up slightly as they both cool down and slides over to lie on his side on the bed, watching Daniel's face, hand ghosting over his hip, trying not to think about what not to say. Daniel has a smile that it takes Jack a moment to place, he's not smirking, but he looks satisfied, satiated, like a cat who got the cream. Now the immediacy of the moment has passed, the part of Jack's hindbrain that is forever wearing uniform is stirring uneasily, but he knows already that he's just going to sit on it until it shuts up because he wants to see this again and again; Daniel looks like there is nothing else he wants to do right now, he's off alert, relaxed and boneless on the rumpled sheets. Even if anyone does ask, they've got away with worse before - he'll just find some way to argue that getting each other off is contributing to their fight against the forces of evil.

Daniel pushes himself up, swings his legs off the bed, and for a moment, Jack is wondering whether he's made another mistake. It's easy to forget that he's still learning this language, that this new level of meaning and abstraction which overlays their simple sentences has only just sprung clear. That there may be more layers, more ambiguities that he hasn't yet comprehended. Daniel turns back to look at him and perhaps he sees some of this in Jack's eyes, because he says "Bathroom?", tone half question, half reassurance. Jack gestures vaguely towards the en-suite and lies back on the pillow as Daniel pads off. He tries not to focus on the soft sounds of Daniel moving around in his bathroom, grabbing a tissue from the box on the side and taking a moment to clean himself off, pull up the blankets and settle himself. It won't be long before it's warm enough to sleep outside them but they're not there yet and the night air is chilled, just a little. When Daniel reappears, he flips up one corner of the covers, a mute invitation. Daniel hesitates for a moment, one eyebrow raised as if surprised, but then accepts, sliding into the bed and settling down, a warm presence against Jack's hip. They drift off to sleep, the light in the hallway still casting a faint glow over them and Jack thinks muzzily that there will be time enough for talk tomorrow.


End file.
